


Patience

by Mr_Lonely



Series: Virtues [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, M/M, Nightmares, implied panic attack, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27772819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Lonely/pseuds/Mr_Lonely
Summary: No matter how much he got used to the darkness in his head, the nightmares never really went away.Hannibal helped, sometimes.Sometimes.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Virtues [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034442
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> This is hella self indulgent xx  
> Maybe if this gets enough notes I'll do a part two

No matter how much he got used to the darkness in his head, the nightmares never really went away.

Some things kept them away. Fishing, reading before bed, staying awake the whole night. His whole life he'd had a distrust of sleep; they weren't going to go away just because he slept in the same bed as the devil.

Hannibal helped, sometimes.

When Will woke up, forgetting where he was or when, Hannibal was there.

He had left his home in Wolf Trap behind, but he didn't need to go out into the dark fields and look at his lit up house. All Will had to do was reach out for the hand that was always extended into the space between them. If it bothered him to be woken by Will's nightmares, Hannibal never said.

He would hold on, and sometimes that was enough.

Sometimes.

But Will's post-nightmare panic only got worse when woke up and shot upright to see Hannibal's eyes on him.

"Will? Are you here with me?"

It was rare that Will was verbal after a nightmare, so Hannibal stuck to questions that only required a yes or no.

But this time...

Will slapped his hands over his ears and tried to breathe. He pulled at his hair and choked on the air. It was near impossible for his panicked brain to tell the difference between sweat and blood. He wasn't sure, if he closed his eyes, he would open them again. He knew what dying felt like, because of...

"Will?"

He couldn't do this. Not tonight.

Will stood up and fled the room, grabbing towels from the closet on auto pilot before going downstairs. All seven of the dogs were in the living room, forming a rough semi circle around the couch. The sight was so familiar it almost made him cry.

One towel on the couch. One as a blanket.

Minnie the German Shepherd watched him set up. She sniffed at Will's face as he laid down, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around himself. Will smiled at her in the dark, gingerly dislodging one arm to bury in her fur. It was soft, warm where she had been laying against her brother. She looked so much better than when he had found her two months ago, chained with her brother against a fence post. 

He wanted to stay awake.

Darkness claimed him anyway.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Hannibal was a patient man.

When Will did not speak to him all day, Hannibal alternated between filling the silences and letting them be.

When Will refused to sit down and eat, Hannibal resigned himself to remaking the meal into a sandwich so Will could eat it as he took the dogs out.

When Will did not come up to their bedroom that night, Hannibal left him alone.

In truth, patience was painful. Ideally, Hannibal would leave Will to settle; Will would talk when he was ready. However, his compassion was terribly inconvenient and it left him restless.

It was shortly after midnight that the door opened. To say Hannibal was a light sleeper would have been an oversimplification; he slept like any other man, only he was much more aware of his surroundings, and coming to full awareness only took moments.

He recognized the creak of the floorboards, the wary footsteps. The smell of dogs and sweat was faint, Will’s shampoo overpowering both. He’d showered, then. Good.

For a moment, Hannibal thought Will was sleep walking. It hadn't happened in their residence here, but it would not be impossible.

Will let out a sigh before he walked over to his side of the bed and laid down.

Hannibal stayed still as Will shifted behind him. He kept his breathing slow and even, his body lax, feigning sleep. Whether Will believed it or not was inconsequential; he would believe what he wanted. There was little light in the room, as Will hadn't closed the door all the way.

Will shifted for some time, trying either to get comfortable or wake Hannibal up. Finally he settled, defeated, and the room was still. Hannibal thought that was the end of it, and was weighing the disappointment at the lack of conversation against his joy at Will’s proximity when the other man spoke into the dark.

“I used to hate you.”

Hannibal maintained his steady breathing and stillness, but listened.

Will shifted again, voice closer and cracked from disuse. “You were in my head and I couldn't get you out. I hated you for what you did to me, what you took from me. For…” He inhaled shakily before continuing, “For killing Abigail. I could never be mad at you for killing me, though. Or rather,” Will laughed harshly, “trying to kill me.”

Hannibal plucked the memory of that night from his mind and turned it over and over. The night he had realized Will changed him.

“I don't think I'm mad at you,” Will confessed to the darkness. 

There was another silence, and Hannibal pulled at the memory of that night until he could smell Will’s blood as it had poured from his abdomen.

“I weighed what you've done and… how I feel.” A short laugh. “The math’s all wrong.”

_Facts care very little about feelings._

“I've realized things I am trying to come to terms with.”

_Tell me, Will._

“I-” Hannibal could see the twitch of Will’s lip, the grinding of his jaw, the shifting of his shoulders as clearly as if he had been looking at him. “I like your hands.”

The sheets shifted, and Will gingerly pressed his fingers against Hannibal’s sleep shirt. Right above Mason’s brand.

“I liked when you… held my cheek. Or my forehead. It had a certain thrill that hands that have ended so many lives would be… gentle.”

It took an embarrassing amount of effort to remain still, to keep up the guise of sleep. Will traced the brand, over and over again. Perhaps it was grounding for him, or perhaps it was easier to be verbally vulnerable holding on to one of Hannibal’s physical reminders of vulnerability. One that Will hadn't given him.

Slowly, inelegantly, Will moved closer. His hand fisted in Hannibal’s shirt as the other presumably stayed wrapped around Will’s own torso. To stay still was heavenly torture, but the moment was not dissimilar to being approached by a wild animal in the forest.

“I don't know why I feel safer around you. I used to hate that.” A pause. “I still might.”

To think, Hannibal mused, the man he met in Jack’s office all those lifetimes ago would be the only one he trusted at his back. This wild animal who had snapped his leash and Become.

Seeing and being seen, trusting and being trusted, were as terrifying as falling off a cliff. Now, Hannibal could compare the two beyond theoretics.

Will paused, then buried his face in Hannibal’s neck. Right up against his pulse.

“I know you're awake,” he mumbled.

Hannibal wet his lips. “Will-”

“Don't.” Will’s grip tightened, and his whole body tensed. “Please, don't.”

Hannibal was a patient man. And so, he let out a breath and held his tongue. He did not fall back asleep, instead paying close attention as, one by one, Will’s muscles relaxed. Against his neck, Will’s breathing slowly evened out. All through the night, Hannibal stayed awake. The hand never moved from where it was on his back.


End file.
